


A World Without Fences

by Coldsaturn



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Finn is gay xD, Fluff, Raven is bisex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:50:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldsaturn/pseuds/Coldsaturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want a tattoo," she starts with a slightly too weak voice. She clears her throat and tries again, looking at Lincoln because it’s easier to focus on the giant than meet Bellamy’s gaze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s an unusually hot day in mid-May, and Clarke is staggering from shadow to shadow, hoping to reach her destination as soon as possible. It’s only 4pm and she’s been melting since the moment she got off the bus. At 500 meters from the tattoo parlor she doesn’t know anymore if she’s hearing cicadas despairing in the heat or the asphalt sizzling under the sun. Probably both.

What’s left of her path is an indistinct hell till the front door, not even a faint shadow to offer some kind of solace. She mentally curses herself for choosing this day, right in the middle of the hottest season the States have seen since the ’70s. Isn’t she lucky?

Once she approaches the handle she hesitates, sure that the piece of metal has become scorching hot under the blazing sun. She opts for a discreet knock-knock on the door.

When she hears the clack of the the lock from the inside, she’s already trying to cool her now sweat-slicked skin by blowing on it. The door opens and she doesn’t even lift her eyes, she rushes inside and throws the bag on the floor as if her life depends on it. Which is probably true.

The air inside is at least 20° colder and she doesn’t even worry about the possibility of pneumonia. She has a light sweatshirt in her backpack but she’d be damned if she’ll take it out. Her sweat freezes and she realizes that her iceberg-tank top is completely drenched and glued to her back and belly. She should be worrying about that too, instead she grabs the unruly mass of her blond hair and lifts it, letting her nape breathe. She doesn’t really know if the resulting moan is just something she’s imagined or if she’s actually done it.

The tense cough is definitely not her own, though, and Clarke finally remembers where she is. Shit.

She raises her gaze, letting her hair fall in a choking blanket on her shoulders, and looks around. Six pair of eyes are staring at her, all adorned with expressions showing more or less enjoyment of her spontaneous show.

To her right she finds an actual 6’1 feet tall mountain, with dark skin and delicate features. Judging from the discomfort on his face, he is the one who coughed. He scratches his neck, not knowing what to do or say, and Clarke notices the black stripes running the entire length of his arms and then disappearing under the black shirt. The fabric is stretched to its extreme by his muscles. Apparently his torso is covered with tribal motifs. The whole figure is rather intimidating, and she gives him a tight smile while raising her eyebrows, in a vain attempt at minimizing her entry at this stage.

And yet, the other two bystanders aren’t showing the slightest intention of forgetting what has just happened. The studio has two rooms for the clients-excluding the waiting room they’re all in, and the bathroom behind the dark giant-and they’re standing at the threshold of those doors. The girl, an olive-skinned brunette, is standing with her mouth slightly open, and the boy with curly dark hair, less tall than the giant but not less attractive, with a smile barely hidden.

"I’ll take her, Lincoln." The brunette says to the giant, after having x-rayed Clarke from head to toe. It’s not the first time that she’s received some female attention, but it has never been this embarrassing. Clarke instinctively crosses her arms on her chest, desperately trying to cover what her wet top has probably already shown.

Lincoln, however, doesn’t have the time to reply before the boy snaps at the girl, annoyed. “Like hell you’ll take her, Rook, you already stole the last one!”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Stole? It was clear as crystal that she was lesbian, Bell. She was out of your league.” When she bats her eyelashes, waving her ponytail, the boy-or Bell, whatever his name is-seems to lose it even more.

"Listening to you, they’re all already lesbians or wannabes, it’s impossible being around you!"

"Don’t blame me for the fact that you can’t pick up girls when there’s real competition.”

"I would like to remind you that if they’re lesbians, then the competition is lost from the beginning. Also, your strategy is talking shit about me. Admit it, it’s because you know that they would come to me otherwise."

"I don’t talk shit about you, what the fuck! It’s the fucking truth that you made me end up  with the bike in the bushes!"

"How many times do I have to tell you, it was an accident! And we were 6, when will you get over it?!"

"When you will-"

"Bellamy, Raven, we kinda have a client. Or, at least, I hope she still wants to be, after your show." Lincoln interrupts them, giving Clarke a hopeful look. Somehow she gets his telepathic apologies. She had been totally speechless in front of the bickering, especially because it seemed she was being used as a pawn for their game, but at this point the only thing she wants to do is laugh. They seem totally nuts, but if the tattoos they’re showing off were drawn by each other, then she’s in the right place. She gives the giant a nod.

"Good. Then sit down and tell me what you have in mind." He points at a desk with two chairs on the opposite side of the front door. On the table there’s an explosion of photo-albums full of tattoo pics, magazines with tribals and piercings, a rudimentary cash register looking like it was stolen from a supermarket, and several boxes of nitrile gloves.

Clarke grabs her backpack from the floor and walks to the left chair, the one closest to Raven’s studio. As Lincoln takes a seat next to her, from the inside of the studio comes a shy “Erm…?” At that, Raven’s eyes widen in shock and she rushes inside with a loud “Oh shit, I totally forgot you were still here!”

Bellamy giggles approaching them, while Lincoln simply sighs.

"Tattoo or piercing?" Bellamy asks as soon as he reaches the desk. He puts one leg on the counter and leans forward, Clarke doing her best to focus on retrieving her block notes from the bottom of her bag, instead of just obsessing over the enhanced version of her erotic fantasies on her left.

Coming from a wealthy family, with her mother being a doctor and her father an engineer, Clarke has grown up with a predictable soft spot for anything that’s not part of her pastel-colored world. She still embraced the family tradition and therefore chose to take medical studies-very happily so-but a part of her is yet undoubtedly attracted to a world without white fences. Her artistic talent is an evidence of that. The fact that looking at the muscled, tattooed and scruffy-looking Bellamy is making her go crazy is just another confirmation.

So she takes out the block notes, forcing herself not to greedily inhale Bellamy’s cologne. She doesn’t want to ruin things with him before they even start anything, but damn, is that vetyver? And it’s not helping at all the fact that he’s looking at her like he’s a hawk and she’s his prey. It’s like she’s constantly waiting for him to pounce on her, his claws digging in her shoulders.

"I want a tattoo," she starts with a slightly too weak voice. She clears her throat and tries again, looking at Lincoln because it’s easier to focus on the giant than meet Bellamy’s gaze. "I want a tattoo to celebrate the 100 remaining days till the start of my MD. I made some sketches."

Putting the notepad on the table, she opens it, flipping through the pages drenched in ink-embroidered figures until she finds what she wants. The night sky, the full moon resting on a bed of concentric clouds, the shades highlighting its pale light, the stars above forming several constellations.

Lincoln looks intently at the drawing, nodding slowly. “Yes. Black&White or col-“

"Did you draw it?" Bellamy cuts in, and Clarke feels her stomach tighten as she realizes that he’s leaning over her to look at the paper. She’s afraid that he may literally hear her heart beating wildly, currently pounding in her ears loudly enough that she believes she’s missing entire chunks of dialogues. When she looks up, she sees him lost in her drawing, a small smile on his lips. He looks impressed, and she blushes.

"Uhm…yes." she replies as Bellamy takes possession of her sketches and starts flipping quickly through the pages with a smile that gets wider with each drawing, then goes back to the one for her tattoo and focuses on it, pulling his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. She glances at Lincoln for help, but he shrugs.

"Don’t look at me like that, he would be the one doing your tattoo. Raven is specialized in piercings, and I in tribals and abstracts. If you want the painting effect, you need him." He points at Bellamy, who’s now pacing the room with Clarke’s notebook in his hand. As soon as he realizes he’s at the center of attention, he rushes to the desk, putting the drawing on the table and towering over Clarke from behind. She’s sure she will have a heart attack before the end of this absurd meeting, and it’s also now the right time to start worrying about stinking of sweat. God, let this end quickly.

"We can do it b&w, but honestly I’d rather use the blue spectrum. It would give the moonlight a way more ethereal and night-ish color. The alternative is using the color of your skin for the shades, like in a negative photo. Given your complexion, the contrast with the blue would be amazing."

The vibrant voice comes at her back in such an enthusiastic tone that she can’t help but get carried away, and within two minutes Bellamy is sitting next to her-Lincoln had mumbled something about going to get a certain Octavia from the mall, before going away-and they’re now both jauntily creating her tattoo.

He pulls out a pen from his pocket and she gives him a clean sheet so he can start doing some sketches about several possible shadows. His style is less academic, but highly visual and impactful, refined enough to change her design into something so out of ordinary that she could have never imagined it on her own. Even the stars take both classical and abstract forms, becoming occasionally frames for what is a painting she almost regrets putting on her skin instead of a canvas.

They stay there, pouring out ideas on ideas for what seems like hours, and Clarke has never felt so in tune with someone. She’s used to people locked in their books, in their high but limited ambitions, while with Bellamy she feels free for the first time to express a part of her that her family has been quietly trying to lock in the drawer for her whole life because it would never benefit her. And yet Bellamy makes a living out of his art, and looking at how his eyes light up when he’s holding a pen, you can’t call him anything but happy. Clarke does have a vocation for medicine, but she doesn’t believe even for a moment that she will have that glint in a hospital ward. What Bellamy is offering her now, it’s pure air.

When they finally end their brain storming, Clarke sighs and reaches for the notepad just as Bellamy does the same. Their fingers touch and both snap back, smiling nervously. It’s so cliché that Clarke doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach nonetheless.

"Where do you want it?" he asks, looking at her sideways as he begins to scribble the corner of his paper.

"I don’t know, honestly. What we’re doing now-" she must admit it, it was just an excuse to use the "we"-"has taken a completely different dimension from what I had in mind. And I love it! So, I would rather ask you."

"You want the less painful version or the most beautiful?"

Clarke swallows anxiously. Pain is one of the reasons why she had doubts about doing this folly behind her parents’ backs. But she needs to feel that this road is also hers, and adding her art is a way to feel whole. Looking at Bellamy, she finds him with a mischievous smile and a raised eyebrow. Looks like a challenge. Looks like a test. And she doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow knowing that she wasn’t up to par. So fuck it.

"The most beautiful." She replies confidently, staring straight into his eyes.

He opens up in a smile that takes her breath away. She would like to look at a watch, because this has to be the fastest crush she has ever developed. It feels like driving on the highway without brakes.

Bellamy turns his torso toward her, reaching out a hand and placing it on her side. She jolts, but he leans back his warm palm against her.

"I’d say we do it here, the central body. The clouds will end up on the hip and then slide on the belly and the kidney." He guides his hand to show her where he wants the design and she literally trembles. "The stars, however, will be distributed along the ribs and will spread underneath the breast." His fingers this time stay firmly on her side, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I’m no expert in tattoos, but I think you’ve just listed some of the most painful places." she says with a faint voice. At this point she’d be willing to strip and lie down on the table and have it done on her skull, if that’s what it takes to have his hands on her. But she’s not shameless enough to tell him that.

"True. In fact, the alternative was the thigh. It would come out nicely anyway, but nothing compared to the first option."

"Can I think about it first?"

"Of course. Take all the time you want, and if you decide to do it, make sure you’re vaccinated for hepatitis and tetanus. We are borderline pathological with cleanliness, but you have to stay safe."

Clarke nods, taking the block-notes and sticking it in her backpack.

"…So, I’ll come back here as soon as I decide, and make an appointment?"

"If you live far away there’s no need to go this far. I’ll give you my number, so I’ll be able to tell you directly when you can come, and if you have questions or concerns, you can ask me anytime." Bellamy offers his hand, so that Clarke can put her cellphone on it, and he quickly saves his data. When he returns it, their fingers touch again, and this time it’s without a doubt intentional on both sides.

"Thank you." She manages to mumble in the end, while Bellamy smiles at her, and damn him if he’s not attractive with the freckles, and the dimple on his chin, and those eyes, and his freaking lips. Clarke sighs, halfway between sexual frustration and exasperation with herself, then she gets up.

"Ok then…I’ll call you." She sways on her heels, still not wanting to leave, but when he nods and practically waits for her to go away, she can’t find more excuses, mumbles a "Hello" and flees the room.

"You smooth fucker." Bellamy finds Raven leaning against the door of her studio. From behind her head pops up her gay best friend, Finn, intent as usual on fixing his hair.

"Can I go now?" he sulks, bored.

"Wait, what? Rook, were you holding him in here?!"

"I didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere. Don’t you dare say that I don’t love you. Finn and I had the time to catch up on our respective adventures." The devilish grin on her lips doesn’t bode well, nor the disgusted face on Finn as he leaves the room.

"Two more minutes hearing about vaginas and I would have vomited." He flips his hair with his hand, and goes out.

"I have to admit that he always leaves theatrically." Bellamy observes turning to Raven, seeking support. The look he meets is a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. "What is it now?"

"Are you kidding? Go after her, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, leaving things half-way?!" He doesn’t have the time to ask what she’s talking about, before he’s being pushed and thrown out of the parlor in less than ten seconds. She also has the nerve to lock the door.

But even if he hates it, she does have a point, so he looks around hoping to meet…shit, he didn’t even ask for her name! Now he gets why Raven is so mad at him.

Fortunately he doesn’t have to look far, because he finds her with her back to the road, her head leaning against the wall while staring at her phone, right next to the shop.

Bellamy tries not to smile, but it’s fucking hard with a little thing like her. He approaches her as quietly as possible and then leans against the wall beside her, exclaiming “You know, I don’t even know your name.”

She literally jumps off and the phone flies from her fingers. He saves it before it reaches the ground, and this time he laughs.

"If you destroy it, then how can you call me?"

"Clarke." She finally manages to spit out with a sigh. She’d like to apologize and tell him that she’s not usually so clumsy, but she doesn’t want to risk making him feel pressured. Yes, he has flirted with her, but maybe it’s something he does with anyone and she just has to forget about it.

"Clarke…" He tastes her name on his tongue and she’s sure that she wants to hear it forever. "Well, Clarke, I forgot I actually have to do something before you go." Bellamy puts his hands in his pockets and casually glances at the cars whizzing by.

"What?" She asks curiously.

Clarke should have imagined it, but she didn’t dare to hope.  
Bellamy says coolly “This.”, before leaning over and kissing her.

It’s just lips on lips, and they stay motionless until both stop holding their breath and exhale. Then Clarke does an involuntary push with her lower lip and Bellamy instinctively relaxes, letting it slide between his lips. He rubs it slowly, barely touching it with his tongue.

That’s it. They separate after a few seconds, but it’s enough for Clarke to completely lose her mind, and for Bellamy to be a total goner. He could really get used to having this kind of effect on her.

Behind his back he hears the door opening, and from the corner of the place Lincoln appears striding toward the shop while shaking his head and muttering that Raven is a dictator. Then Octavia follows shortly after, giving a pat on Bellamy’s back and muttering “Finally we can go! Good job!”. And last but not least, Finn, with a heartbroken look because “I actually wanted to go the other way, fuck!”

Clarke just stares with her mouth open and with the corners pulled in an embarrassed and incredulous smile. Bellamy looks at the sky, whispering a slow litany of “I hate you all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to [mournthemoon](mournthemoon.tumblr.com) who kindly gave me the prompt.
> 
> Edited as usual by the sassy and sexy hook [Zoadgo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo) (captain, captain zoadgo).
> 
> Thanks to anyone who will read it, comment it, _kudos it_ , ignore it etc.  
> Feel totally free to contact me here or on [my tumblr](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Life, from the parlor to her home, is an indistinct blur of cars and passers-by. Clarke is not even sure it's still summer; she recalls the unbearable heat when she had rushed inside the studio as if it were an oasis in the desert, but now the air seems to have become much more breathable, almost pleasant.

She even enjoys the trip on the bus, where a little girl decides that the woman sitting next to her is her new best friend and therefore starts asking her about what's inside her purse, proudly displaying her shoulder bag right after, which actually contains a small mirror. Her father, who's standing so that her daughter can have the only free seat, apologizes to the woman with an indulgent smile, but she shrugs without taking her eyes off from the little one, grinning affectionately.

Where are these moments when Clarke is sad and needs to feel the kindness of the world she lives in? Why does she happen to notice only when things are already going in the right direction?

Once she's off of the bus, only four blocks remain before she arrives at home. Now that she's in the respectable part of the city, the houses gets larger and the gardens more luxuriant. The sun fades with dusk just enough to make the atmosphere lighter, and Clarke slows her pace until she ends up in a quiet walk, looking like a tourist wandering aimlessly.

A traffic light stops her gait and Clarke sighs airily, a smile already tugging at the corners of her lips and a tickle in her chest that is putting a strain on her self-control, trying to make her laugh in the middle of the intersection. The light turns green and she resumes her journey home, looking at the houses and their Gothic gates. Locked inside, children play with their dogs while their parents sip lemonade.

With the sun cast lower, railings stretch in eerie shadows on the grass, creeping closer inch by inch to their unaware victims. Lingering on one of the gates with the wrought iron inlay, Clarke can't stop feeling like she's slowly suffocating at the idea of reaching her own golden cage.

The difference between her and everyone she knows from this parallel universe is that whilst others believe that the world is conveniently inside their garden and they’re all kings and queens, Clarke thinks that a prison still remains a prison, even with iron embroidery.

From house to house she drags herself forward, until she reaches her own, a copy compared to all the others in the neighborhood, with a vapid architectural value but an amazingly high economical price.

She sighs, gathering her strength, frowning slightly when she realizes that she's jumping into the usual pool of anxiety and guilt. Then responsibility and regret. A happy life, basically.

She rings the doorbell, not wanting to pull out the keys from her backpack. The door opens after a few minutes, revealing her mother, Abby Griffin.

"Oh hello, darling! You came just in time, Wells is with us and he'll stay for dinner."

Oh. Great.

Wells is her childhood friend, as well as her parents’ preferred candidate for what it is, bluntly, an arranged marriage. Jaha Pharmaceuticals is one of the most influential companies in the States, and her mother, Abby, has worked for them forever. Wells was assigned as her best friend when she was 8 months old, and from that moment on they had been inseparable, will they-nill they. Wells is a good guy, and forced by the closeness they had really ended up becoming best friends, but the silent pressure their parents are putting on them to bring them together is seriously starting to annoy Clarke.

"Nice. Then I'm going to change and I'll join you in the dining room." Clarke steps in the house as her mother stands aside to let her pass, and Abby puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling.

"Oh, don't worry darling, we've already sent Wells to your room. We'll call you when the dinner is ready." Clarke swears she can feel the hand giving a slight push on her shoulder before interrupting the contact. Abby closes the door, and Clarke counts silently to ten.

She tries to convince herself that it's not a big deal, but she can't drown that feeling of suffocation eating at her that started when she was still in the street.

Again, where are those moments of humanity when she needs them the most?

She goes upstairs, trying not to take it out on Wells for being in her room without her permission. It's not as if he had done it on purpose, or had any choice in the matter.

When she opens the door she finds him sitting on her bed, his cell phone in his hand and the listless look of someone who's bored to death. His eyes immediately take over her, and his face relaxes as in a sigh.

"God, thought you'd never come back."

"How long have you been here?" Clarke asks, closing the door behind her and leaving her backpack under the desk.

"As soon as we were done with the pleasantries. I tried telling them that I could come back later when you'd be here too, but they insisted that I should wait here. I'm afraid I've been invited only so I could rummage through your stuff."

"Found anything interesting?" The tone of the conversation is as light as usual, but Clarke wonders whether Wells will notice that her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Your underwear is extremely boring." Wells argues raising an eyebrow, and Clarke smiles, in spite of everything. The smile turns quickly into a frown, though. It's true that her underwear is boring.

"So, you invited yourself to dinner?"

"Why, did you have something else to do? Anyway, it was my father who kicked me out of the house and ordered me to come here. Tsk, as if I needed his approval."

Clarke hums in response, not wanting to invite him to perform in his very long and well-known monologue "Me and daddy Jaha: a dysfunctional relationship, an essay."

She sits at her desk, moving the PC mouse and waking up the system from the standby mode. The Facebook page greets her with four new friend requests, followed by the same amount of private messages. Clarke stares at the screen, wondering why she's suddenly getting all this fame.

By clicking on the figurine, the display shows her new wanna-be-friends.

When she reads the name of Octavia, Raven, Finn and Lincoln, she's unable to control the smile creeping from one cheek to the other on her face. She has no idea how they found her so quickly, but she’s happy.

The memory of the hours spent at the tattoo parlor blows around her like a fresh breeze, and for an instant Clarke feels light again.

"What? Who are they?" Wells’ voice makes her slip back into reality, his shadow behind her darkening the keyboard and part of the screen.

"You remember the tattoo I wanted to do? Today I went to a studio to talk about my idea, and I met them there." Clarke even manages to sound affectionate. She has barely spoken to them, and yet she yearns to feel part of their group. There would be room for her, she’s sure of that. A place where she would be free to be herself.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have come with you." Wells towers behind her like a cloud of guilt.

Of course he would have come with her. If there was one thing which Clarke is sure of in her life is that Wells will always be beside her. And it's thanks to him that she has faith and hope that life is more than just hypocrisy and personal profit, because what their parents are still trying to exploit into a useful business contract since they were born has instead turned into one of the most significant friendships of her life.

"It's something that I need to do alone, it's a gift to myself." Clarke replies turning her head slightly towards him. Wells ruffles her hair, knowing too well that it would drive her mad, and leans his elbows on her shoulders.

"And the messages?"

Clarke contemplates for a moment whether to let Wells find out what they are or wait till she's alone, but in the end she shrugs, clicking to open the inbox. It's not like she has ever hidden anything from him. When the new window opens, Clarke has to put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud.

Raven: "I knew I saw you somewhere! You were in a magazine, there was some sort of charity ball and you were with your parents, all dressed up and royal looking. I may or may not have had fantasies about you."

Lincoln: "Raven forced me to add you. I mean, not that I mind, mind you, it's just that she wanted me to do it today."

Finn: "According to Raven, I need more vagina in my life, and she threatened to cut my hair if I didn't add you. I post a lot of gay porn, consider yourself warned."

Octavia: "My brother-you checked his molars today, remember?-doesn't have his own account and is generally totally inept at maintaining social relations, so add me instead. I'm like his manager."

"This Octavia, what is she talking about?" Wells asks after a few seconds of silence. Clarke has to remove forcefully the smile from her face, but thinking back to her afternoon only worsens the situation.

"Let's just say I met someone." Understatement of the century.

"At the tattoo parlor?" His voice is a pair of shades away from curiosity and a little too close to tense for her liking, but Clarke is not really paying attention.

"Yes." For a moment she lets the memories flood, and it's almost like she can still feel the gentle pressure on her lips. Wells stops her daydream taking away the weight from her shoulders, clearing his throat as if upset. Clarke turns completely towards him, raising her eyebrows in a silent apology.

"I should change now, would you mind waiting for me downstairs?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course-"

Clarke could almost swear that he can’t wait to get away from her, but it's a doubt which she will have the time and opportunity to deal with later. Now there's definitely a more urgent thing to do, because thanks to her new group of best friends, she has the perfect excuse to call him. Her heart immediately accelerates, and she’s flooded by a feeling of euphoria enlarging her lungs. It's something new, exciting, fresh, and she’d be damned, it seems for once sincere.

As soon as Wells leaves the room she takes her phone and jumps on her bed, looking for Bellamy’s number in the phone-book and silencing all the little voices in her head trying to stop her out of shyness. Insecurities will be put together with Wells' problems, later.

At the third ring, a hoarse and slightly metallic voice vibrates in her ear, causing her toes to curl. Why does he have to sound so good even on the phone?

"Yes?"

"Bellamy?" Clarke asks, her voice a little more shrill than necessary. She remembers that Bellamy doesn't have her number, so it's up to her to do the honors. "It’s Clarke."

She hears him move and shutting a door, suddenly erasing all the background noise. "Clarke, hey." Clarke lets herself fall back on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow and her teeth digging into her bottom lip to keep herself from whimpering. Did it really happen how she remembers? How did a push for independence make her meet someone like him?

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Does every girl that you know receive a welcome party from your crew?" Clarke dares to tease, praying that this will take away a little the clumsy aura that she has emanated all afternoon.

Bellamy groans and Clarke can perfectly imagine his eyes closing in a silent plea for patience. A silent laugh escapes from her and he sighs. "What have they done this time?"

"Nothing that you should worry about, I've just been tackled by them on Facebook."

"Sorry, as soon as I see them tonight I'll tell them not to bother you."

"No need, really, it was actually a kind thought on their part."

Silence falls between them and Clarke would really love if it weren't an embarrassed one, but they know too little of each other to afford empty words, staring into nothing. Rehearsing in her mind the phone call to find something to talk about, she realizes she has just implied that Bellamy has a habit to pick up girls left and right, and that the rest of the group is fully naturalized in the matter. She'd like to slap herself; in a single move she had made him the player and had put herself on the same level of all the others he had ever known. His silence, moreover, is making her fear that she did in fact hit it on the nail.

She mimes a "Fuck" with her lips, sitting up and meditating on how to end the call. She didn't want to look like a klutz and ended up reaching a whole new level of social clumsiness. If she quits in a hurry maybe she can get him to understand that she was just teasing him for fun.

A second before announcing that she should go to dinner, Bellamy clears his throat and interrupts the glacial silence. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Why?" Her heart skips two beats, and Clarke rests her hand on her chest, trying to calm it down.

"Because you could come to dinner with us. Pizza and movie in front of the couch, Raven and I arguing, Lincoln trying to separate us, Octavia wanting to film us, and Finn wondering why Raven made him come."

Clarke snorts, masking her face with her hand. She may not know them at all, but their dynamics seem to come straight out of a summer sitcom. She's dying to go, but then she thinks about Wells and her parents waiting downstairs, ready for their dinner talking about the latest achievements in medical research.

"Uhm, I’d love to, but I have dinner with my family in about-" She taps the phone screen to display the time, "-15 minutes." She should seriously end the phone call and get changed.

"You dine at 7pm?!" Bellamy exclaims incredulously. "I was just going to say to take it easy because we wouldn't meet before 10pm."

"Well, you dine too late." Clarke replies with a fake reproachful tone.

"Well-" Bellamy copies her voice, making her giggle, "If you dine this early, you can always come once you've finished. We'll just eat your pizza."

Clarke actually thinks about it for a moment. Her parents don't let her go out alone after 9pm-they say she is the ideal victim for abductions and abuse, given the importance of her family-but she could always say that she's going out with Wells and actually sneak out to Bellamy.

"I can try. Where should we meet?" Clarke asks finally, and Bellamy almost doesn't let her finish speaking before he's already answering.

"At the store. Lincoln's apartment is right above it, and we all meet there tonight."

"You sure it wouldn't be a problem for me to tag along?"

"No, Clarke. And to answer your earlier question, no, they don't do it with every girl. Somehow they really like you. Or, at least, Raven really likes you, which is basically the same as saying that they're liking you out of coercion."

Clarke smiles and maybe Bellamy can hear the slight brush of air against the microphone, but she can't be certain. The fact is that he softens the tone, though. "Then I'll see you tonight?"

"Keep your fingers crossed, I'll let you know later."

"Okay. See you later, then."

"Yeah yeah, see you later."

The click indicates that the call is ended, but Clarke remains with the phone pressed against her ear, staring at the door as if he had just walked out from her room, the usual smile hovering over her lips. If someone ever asked what she's doing with Bellamy, building an innocent friendship certainly wouldn’t be her answer.

***

When Clarke joins her parents and Wells downstairs, she finds them in the lounge with a pre-dinner apéritif. Abby and Jake are sitting on the couch, while Wells occupies one of the armchairs in front of them, with the bar table at his right side. Clarke takes the armchair next to it and sits down, carefully tilting her legs while keeping her knees together in the correct posture so that she doesn't lift the pencil skirt. Dressing formally for a dinner at home was something she loved doing as a child and now she finds it simply a nonsense. After 18 years of gallant dinners, the idea of having a pizza sitting on a sofa seems the most perverse and satisfying thing in the world.

"What did I miss?" Clarke asks after the happy smiles on her parents' faces exhaust her patience.

Abby looks at Jake and a silent dialogue made of glances passes between them, before Jake sighs and Abby turns her attention on Clarke.

"Clarke, honey, we have something we want to talk to you about."

Judging by their looks, definitely too fixed on her, Clarke knows she has reason to worry. She glances at Wells, who is sitting comfortably on the other chair with a serene but determined look in his eyes. What the hell have they talked about while she was gone?

"What is it?" She finally dares to ask, not wanting to wait any longer. The last time her parents had her sit in a chair for some news, it was when they told her that it would be important for them and the family if she chose medicine instead of the art academy. That time they’d got what they wanted, and Clarke can't help but wonder if they will be able to convince her again.

"Clarke, you know how immensely indebted we are to Jaha Pharmaceuticals, for the huge support on my research. Wells' father is a dear friend and an invaluable partner in my work." Abby smiles at Wells and he reciprocates by making a slight sign of assent with his head. "And now we have decided to fund one of my researches and pass it to Jake for implementation. We're talking about a project so ambitious it will have a worldwide impact. For the importance it has, we need a public image ensuring that our plan is both long-term and solid."

Clarke had stopped breathing after hearing Jaha's name. She knows where her mother is going, but she doesn’t have the courage to admit that it's really happening.

"And seeing as you and Wells are already representatives of our union in the eyes of the press, a wedding is exactly what the world is asking for, and what we want to be able to finally launch this project. We've already spoken to reverend Shumway and he gave us the courtesy of booking us two hours three weeks from now, just enough time to make preparations."

Several seconds pass and Clarke doesn't have the slightest idea of what to say. She listened to everything Abby had said, and in her head over a billion remarks had passed, from educated declines to screams in rage, but she cannot process any of those in words. She can't even feel anything; she's simply sitting in a comfortable chair with her heart beating regularly and her eyes losing focus as if in a pre-sleep state.

"Clarke..." Well's voice suddenly wakes her up and she looks at him, seeking support, some kind of meaning. They can't be serious. "I know it's sudden, but we've known each other all our lives, it won't be that different from what we already have." He makes a half-smile and Clarke presses against the backrest as if Wells was spitting poison along with words.

"Do you agree with them?" The feeling is eerily similar to that of a punch in the stomach. "Wells, you and I hate this ridiculous obsession everyone has that we should get together, have you forgotten?"

"I know, but Clarke-"

"What did they do to convince you that this would be a good idea? Think of what we're talking about! Marriage is not like the weekends we spend watching TV, it's a frigging lifetime contract that you should want to sign only with the person you're in love with, and this nonsense would deprive us of that!"

"Clarke-" Wells tries to stop Clarke's rant by stretching and putting a hand on her arm, but she jolts away, the chair's feet dragging loudly on the marble floor. It echoes for several seconds, and Wells looks at her with an expression so full of hope that Clarke feels she's out of her body. Where is the best friend with whom she had fought their prison for her whole life? Where is the guy who used to give her albums and watercolors secretly, despite her parents forbidding her passion until she would enter medicine?

"Wells, it's against everything we’ve ever fought for. I can still accept the art and med-school thing, because I know I can balance them together in some way, but here we are talking about screwing our private lives. How can you accept to give up love?"

"Because I wouldn't be giving it up." A muffled sound makes Clarke look away from Wells to her mother, who's now resting a hand on her heart and seems to be on the verge of crying. Her father is looking at them with a smirk. Clarke still doesn't understand what's going on, until she looks again and the last final blow shatters her perception of Wells, separating the innocent image of her best friend from the person who she has before her now. An adult man with hidden desires and ambitions. "Clarke, I lo-"

"Don't you dare!" Clarke jumps up and moves behind the chair, increasing the distance between her and her life going to hell. "Don't you dare saying it, Wells. Don't you dare to confess it in this moment." A part of her is refusing to stain his feelings associating them with this nightmare, denying stubbornly the possibility that he could be a perfect part of it instead.

"Honey, calm down, I understand that it's a sudden thing, but you can-"

"No, Mom, don't talk because I'm not listening." Clarke leans forward and places her hands on her knees, feeling her ears ringing and the threat of going into panic too close for comfort.  "I need to be alone, excuse me."

Despite the dizziness and her labored breathing, she runs up the stairs climbing them two by two, with a chorus of "Clarke!" chasing after her from the living room, and Clarke has never been so grateful that her room has a door with a lock.

Once she reaches her chamber, the last thing Clarke remembers is the sound of the bolt sliding into place and giving her a vain sense of protection, and the blood pounding in her head.

 

***

 

When she regains consciousness of what she has around her, she's no longer in her room. She's sitting on a couch with a cup of steaming hot chocolate between her hands, the flat screen TV set on mute hanging on the farthest wall in front of her, and the lamp on the ceiling projecting a light so bright that Clarke's eyelids ache. Looking around, paintings of cars and various abstracts hang on the walls, the low rectangular coffee table right in front of her jam-packed with magazines of all kinds, with a preponderance of art and tattoos periodicals.

Her memory returns just when she hears Lincoln's voice from one of the rooms next to her.

The living room has no door, just an arch in the wall that faces directly a narrow corridor. Clarke gets up and follows the muffled conversation. The room next to her has a frosted glass door slightly ajar, and a large dark shape is shading almost all of it.

"Raven, I need you to come here right away, I've got Clarke in shock and I don't know what to do...Yes, I found her at the front door of the shop ten minutes ago, she apologized to me saying that she had run away from home and then went completely mute. What the fuck do I know, it's you the one with the fucked-up family, you may be of hel...Ok. Got it. And yes, I'll call Bellamy as well. And thank you. And hurry."

When Lincoln ends the call and opens the kitchen's door, he finds Clarke curled up on the floor with her knees to her chest, trying to dry what she can feel are tears flooding her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, you were all asking for this to continue and here it is, a boring second chapter setting a pseudo plot for Bellarke xD 
> 
> Edited, as usual, by the incredibly melodious [Zoadgo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo). Seriously, if it sounds good and doesn't have a typo every two words it's because she did her job.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who will read it, comment it, _kudos it_ , ignore it etc.  
> Feel totally free to contact me here or on [my tumblr](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com)!


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